


The Way To a Man’s Heart Is Through Someone Else’s Stomach

by Iwantthatcoat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Can be read as & or /, Friendship, Gen, Post-Season/Series 04, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 14:49:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17900162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/pseuds/Iwantthatcoat
Summary: Sherlock has been trying to make peace with Molly after the events of S4, and Molly is having none of it. Eventually they repair a bit of the damage over an autopsy.





	The Way To a Man’s Heart Is Through Someone Else’s Stomach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittenKin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenKin/gifts).



_Please, Molly._

It was the second text. She had ignored the first one, which had been _Please let me explain._

She wasn’t sure if she wanted there to be a third. She’d probably ignore that too— if there was one. Not to be mean. Just… Just because she really couldn't face him right now. She always sounded so pathetic around him. Even a text would sound pathetic. Maybe not as pathetic though. At least her voice wouldn’t sound so shaky. Maybe this was actually better. She typed a reply.

_What do you want, Sherlock?_

There.

That sounded strong. Strong-er.

_Molly, I am so sorry. There was a reason. I had to follow specific instructions or else your life would have been in danger._

Coming from anyone else, it would have been tosh, but Sherlock Holmes’s life was just weird enough for it to be true. Even so, it didn't help that his explanation sounded right out of a bad movie. ‘You have two minutes to say the worst possible thing to all your friends, starting with Molly Hooper. Ready...set...go.’

_Fine. You did what you had to do for whatever reason. Now leave me alone._

Molly waited for the next bit. But there was nothing. Not so much as an OK. Not that Sherlock would type anything like ‘OK’. Unless he was trying to be funny. Or casual, in a way that just ended up sounding more pretentious. Not a ‘that is acceptable’ or whatever.

She turned on the telly, and refused to check her mobile until the programme ended. 

She checked the mobile just as the _Eastenders_ credits began to roll. Nothing. Ok then. Maybe that was all he wanted. To say he was sorry and never meant... to say that. Well, clearly he didn't mean to say it, she was the one who had asked him to, after all. If they both said it, she could pretend they both didn't mean it. Like when you come back from Christmas and someone has a really ugly necklace they make a point of saying they bought on holiday and you say it's lovely and then they say something nice about your new haircut and you know neither of you mean it and you both just walk away. So they had both said I love you. And it was a lie. Sherlock had never loved her, and Molly didn't love him anymore. There, done. Walk away.

It was on the third day that she decided to text him. Because she cared, damn it. She still absolutely cared about him. And that wasn’t a weakness. It was a strength. Caring about people is a strength, and it didn’t mean she was playing nursemaid to yet another damaged psyche. 

Jim saw that tendency and played it just right— quiet and damaged, but just on the edge of fixable. The real Jim Moriarty wasn’t fixable. But this was why Sherlock Holmes was— Toby jumped up and cuddled in her lap, inadvertently offering an analogy— as irresistible as catnip. He was someone few could love. And how strong a pull was that? But, love could take many forms. If he didn’t want her...or if he just didn’t work that way...she could still find a way to love him. 

Yes, loving people that weren’t capable of the emotion was a losing proposition, but she’d helped him after the jump. She’d known why he had done it, even if she couldn’t quite fathom why he decided to keep it a secret for so long. And yes, he’d been his usual self about convincing her to give up her bedroom for him, but...he’d had a point. Her wall had been covered in photographs, push-pins and yarn. That wouldn’t have been possible in her living room. 

_Are you ok?_

There was a long pause before the response.

_Yes._

That was all. He really was leaving her alone.

_I think maybe we should talk about this. If you want to._

More minutes.

_Yes. I do. Bart’s? Noon?_

_Lunch. Perfect. No toes though. I’m still angry._

_No toes._

***

Sherlock walked in as Molly was changing gloves. Just walked. No striding. He leaned against the far wall and waited.

“I’m just finishing up.”

“Mind if I look?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Ummm...that looks like…”

“'I like to call it ‘post mortem predation by domestic animal companions’. Pretty common, actually. Cats get the blame, but dogs do it too.”

Sherlock moved in close to the body. “This definitely was. Looking at the space between these marks, the jaw is too broad, in my opinion, for a terrier and not broad enough for a mastiff. It may have been a spaniel.”

“Curly-haired spaniel. Police caught him in the act. The officer was pretty horrified about it and wanted to put the dog down, but the way I see it, it had been several days and he was just hungry. I wouldn’t mind if Toby ate me. If I was dead.” She grabbed a bone saw. “There’s nothing too unusual here. Still, she was a bit young to have just, died, so— doing a basic check. You should have tried to patch things up sooner. You would have seen a bullet embolus.”

“A bullet…”

“Shot in the abdomen, but the bullet was found in his knee.” Molly grinned. “Bullet to the upper anterior abdomen penetrated the thoracic aorta and traveled to the right popliteal artery, embolizing the vessel.”

“The bullet must have been small enough to migrate to the right lower extremity following the blood stream, so probably a 0.22 caliber, fired from a distance of 15–20 feet so that the kinetic energy was sufficient to penetrate the thoracic aorta but not enough to exit it. But that wouldn’t have been fatal if they...no. They didn’t get treatment, did they?”

“No. He felt just fine and walked away. Called himself lucky it had only grazed him. Probably didn’t want to alert anyone as to why he had gotten shot, too, but he came for help later and died of septis. Stay on my good side, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock watches as Molly completes the autopsy, lost in the efficiency of her skill.

“It is, incredibly complicated,” he finally says, not taking his eyes off the corpse. “What happened.” He’s clearly not talking about the dead body.

“Is it?” Molly begins to saw at a ribcage. “Some sort of, code word I had to say or something?”

“That’s...pretty much it, actually.”

“Couldn’t tell me what was happening, of course. Had to have a suspenseful plot.”

“I should watch more of those types of movies. Clearly Eurus has.”

“Eurus? That the villain? Figures. They always have weird names.”

“She is my sister, and...yes she was...the villian. And... they do. I suppose. The names.”

“They need a Bond villain with a normal name for once. Long lost sister?”

“Yes. She is in prison. She was then, too. At the time.”

Molly stopped for a moment and looked up from the slab, radial saw still whirling in her right hand. “Wait. This is all true?”

“Sometimes life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent.”

“So, a sister…”

“In prison.”

“...Said she would kill you...”

“Yes. And you as well.”

“...Unless I said that I loved you.”

“Yes.”

“Knowing I… did?”

“Most definitely.”

Molly switched off the saw. “Why?”

“She loved me and wanted my undivided attention? She hated me and wanted me to suffer? Both? Neither? What would it be in one of your movies?”

“They aren’t exactly my movies, but… I don’t know.”

“I am sorry, Molly. Never would I have…. She knew that hurting you was an efficient way to hurt me.”

“I… you didn’t sound like you were making fun.”

“No. Not of you. She was having her fun mocking me, though. I’m sorry. I never imagined she would have created a situation where I had to— “

“Sherlock. Remember when you had created that list of reasons why you needed to set yourself up in my bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“And I said what?”

“‘Stop already, it’s fine.’”

“Well. Stop already. It’s fine.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay. Now pick a body part.”

“Pick a…”

“Pick one. Enough of them are missing as is, and no one will miss an organ or two. Can’t offer you her heart. Already damaged.”

“Damaged hearts are fascinating.”

Molly stops and looks at Sherlock. “Yes, they always are.”

“But sometimes, a brain is even better.”

She smiles and returns to her work. “You can have a bit of...wait. This is...wrong.”

Sherlock stands next to Molly to catch her vantage point. “Blue intestines. Check for dextropropoxyphene poisoning. The capsule is…”

“Is blue. Right. I’ll run a few more tests.”

“What was her address?”

“In the file on the counter.”

“I’ll be back.” He darts off to the counter and is out the door before poking his head back in a moment later. “And. Thank you. For. Everything.” Then he is gone again, leaving Molly smiling.

Ok, maybe she could manage a few toes. Who opens the drawers all the way anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for Kitten-kin to thank her for the illustrations for my Cabinlock fics, which I love beyond measure.


End file.
